


yours (but don't let the others know)

by hartfeld (lyuyu)



Series: yours [1]
Category: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyuyu/pseuds/hartfeld
Summary: Maybe it does make sense after all.
Relationships: Tyril Starfury/Mal Volari
Series: yours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100330
Kudos: 2





	yours (but don't let the others know)

They exist as ‘us’ for only one carefully chosen moment, when the others have drifted off to sleep and the stillness of the night lacks witnesses, for what is deemed unnatural and to become a closely guarded secret is about to happen, those unnamed two huddled closely together and the flames of the campfire painting them with warmth.

That same warmth can be found sprinkled across their cheeks, others violet, others deep crimson, when Tyril’s fingertips brush against the sleeve of Mal’s tunic, sliding it up to reveal an inked reminder of a painful past. His touch is soft and cautious, as if it reveres the skin and curves of the tattoo, tracking every line and shape with quiet fascination and tenderness.

He speaks of stars and predestination, the images of tomorrow and how it all is laid out in the days already lived. Mal never quite understood how beautiful life could be with a little bit of stargazing, constellations drawn in the blue of Tyril’s ocean deep gaze and on the curve of his Cupid’s bow, yet suddenly he has developed a craving for a taste of celestial bodies.

His fingertips drag along the outline of the daggers and drops of blood so gently it makes Mal shiver, and he  _ never  _ shivers, not like this. Tyril paints an invisible picture of a god unknown to him on his wrist, and for one beat of a heart it feels like the ache this incarnate memory has brought on for so long has faded.

It  _ hasn’t _ , of course, but it makes Mal wonder if this is the connection of ones souls the elven so fondly speak of. They are more alike than they are apart, both terrified of returning to where they once had left from, for the demons they have fended off ever since are the first ones they have to face.

Tyril leaves a path of tingling sparks dancing across his wrist; and Mal falls in love with  _ everything _ that makes him feel alive.

He speaks in hushed tones and Mal leans in closer to hear the divinity of every syllable that rolls off Tyril’s tongue, blinded by night, and blue and black, this magic of his anything but dark. It’s  _ purple _ , and not in the way of the Illusionists; this is anything but an illusion, the thought becoming more absolute when the blue of his lips meet the crimson of his tattoo and follow the trail of the color scheme to Mal’s mouth.

They never have touched each other by purpose, but only in passing and by accident, the collision of their skins so fleeting they had barely noticed it. It makes little sense to come together like this, but maybe the stars Tyril always goes on about have aligned and given them an excuse beyond explanation they never realized to seek.

His hands are warm on each side of Mal’s neck, fingers curling into his hair at the nape and thumbs pressing lightly against his throat, kissing the air out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. For one hazy moment when he opens his eyes, Mal remembers his love for everything that sparkles; gemstones and gold and the Cartesian Sea. And stars.

Maybe it does make some sense after all.


End file.
